


The Summer Prince

by ferretbaby



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, F/M, Fatherhood, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin perving on Bilba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferretbaby/pseuds/ferretbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out fighting Orcs, Prince Thorin comes across a hobbit babe. With no way to know where the child had come from or how to get him back, Thorin decides to adopt him as his own. Things are happy for a while, until little Frodo’s aunt comes to Erebor looking for him and Thorin has to decided how he’s going to handle sharing the babe he’s come to consider his son with a beautiful stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No Smauge AU! Timeline is of course out of wack since Frodo is born before his original time. The Company's a bit younger too, but not by much. Their ages will probably be mentioned, but we'll go with everyone being about 20 years younger than seen in the movie verse.

****

 

Thorin was just tearing the end of his sword out of the chest of a raiding Orc when he first heard the pitiful cries. At first he thought it might be a small animal, for it sounded like something his sister’s cat had made when it was younger and begging for milk, but the noise was muffled so it was hard to distinguish between the yelling and fighting going on around him. After cleaning his blade off on the Orcs clothes, he rustled through the pack strapped to its back, thinking he’d find an injured animal the Orc pack had saved to eat later once they crossed through Mirkwood, but instead what he found was something even he couldn’t have imagined.

“Mahal!” He stepped back, blinking in wonder at the tiny babe wrapped tightly in its blanket.

Dwalin smashed his fist into the face of an Orc coming up behind the Prince, his knuckles bloody and his axe blades dripping with gore. “What you got there?”

Thorin kneeled and gently pulled the babe out for the makeshift sling the Orcs had made, cradling the child softly against his chest as it continued to wail its discomfort. “A child,” he said, rocking it gently. “Have there been any mentions of a dwarf babe being stolen in Erebor?”

Spitting on the dead creature in disgust, Dwalin cursed the pack of Orc’s they’d chased through the night from the edges of Dale into Mirkwood. “Not that I’ve heard, but it’s still early morning and it might not have been noticed yet.”

Hefting the babe up so he could look at him, Thorin inspected it for injuries. It was deathly pale, with skin as white as the winter snow, and limp, inky black hair and lips as red as the dark wine served at the high tables. If Thorin had to guess an age, he would say the babe was only a few months old, but if it had been traveling with an Orc pack for however long, so there was no telling its age if it was malnourished and stunted in growth. For all he knew it could be a couple of years old. The ragged clothing it wore was brown and dirty, torn from a potato sack and stained with black blotches around the collar. Thorin imagined the Orc he’d killed had tried to feed the babe an Orcish distilled spirits, which would account for the black stains on its clothes and its high fever.

“Not very hairy for a dwarf,” Dwalin commented, kicking out and tripping an Orc charging towards one of the other guards. “Think they shaved it to hide its origins?”

Thorin removed the one bit of bright clothe around the babe, a small tattered blue blanket with flowers sewed around the edges. There was a name, Frodo, stitched in white Westron lettering on one corner. “I don’t think it is a dwarf,” he said, putting a hand under the babe’s bottom when he started fussing about being held aloft. He cradled it against his chest, tucking its body under the fur of his cloak to keep it warm from the morning chill.

Dwalin waggled a finger in the babe’s face and received a sneeze for his trouble. “It’s cute. Must be a dwarf.”

Sensing someone coming up behind them quickly, Thorin whirled with his blade at the ready, slicing cleanly through the Orc’s stomach before it could even raise its blade. The Orc looked surprised, frozen with its eyes bulging as black blood spilled down its trousers.

Thorin sneered. “We almost done here? I’d rather not be caught by elvish sentinels for encroaching on their territory. They can clean up the mess we’ve left them as proof Thranduil’s guard is slipping.”

“Is there anything else the Orc’s stole beside the child?” Dwalin asked, helping a young guard pull her short sword from an Orcs skull. At the mention of a child the other guards grew interested in their conversation and tried to peek over Thorin’s shoulder for a glimpse of the babe. He gave each of them a hard stare, hoping he wouldn’t have to remind them to be on guard even through their curiosity. While relations with Mirkwood had improved since Thrór’s passing, they were in a precarious situation chasing the raiders back onto the elvish territory.

While the others checked over the remains of the raiding party’s supplies, finding a few elvish trinkets and iron weapons, Thorin investigated the babe. Now that there was a moment to really look at it, he discovered it was male and seemed to possess pointed ears and an odd spattering of curly hair around his ankles. Its cloth diaper was clean, which Thorin thanked Mahal for, but it did bring a new worry over whether the child had eaten anything substantial or not. Its arms were skinny and stomach bulging in the way beggars did sometimes when they hadn’t eaten in a long while.

“Think it’s an elvish child?” Dwalin asked, looking over the Prince’s shoulder as Thorin traced the sharp points of the babe’s ears.

“I’ve never seen an elf under a thousand years old,” Thorin shrugged. “I’ve always assumed they awake full formed and ready to torment dwarves with their self-righteous speeches about trade taxes.”

Dwalin laughed and the others took that as their queue to abandon their duty and come scrutinize the babe on their own.

“Could be a fairy child? A changeling meant to be switched with a human’s child,” a blond bearded guard suggested, eyeing the babe’s feet strangely.  

“You’ve pumice for brains,” an older guard growled, hitting the other dwarf over the head with his helmet. “That’s a halfling’s child. A hobbit. See the big hairy feet? That should tell you right there what it is.”

Thorin ran a finger down the sole of the child’s foot, earning a gurgle and a wiggle from the babe as he touched the light dusting of hair around his ankles. “A Halfling? Is there a colony on this side of the Misty Mountains?”

The only one halfling settlement Thorin had even heard of in passing was the Shire, deep in the region of Eriador in the realm of Arnor, far on the other side of the mountain ranges. He remembered seeing a picture of a hobbit drawn in his lesson books as a child, a creature smaller than a dwarf but with the appearance of an elf, like some sort of cursed hybrid mix of the two, though the books had stated they were closer to Men in relation to any other race. He’d never seen one in passing, not even in the markets of Dale.

The older dwarf shrugged. “Not that I’ve heard. I have a cousin in Ered Lund that said they never leave their burrows, much less travel this far East. They’re not very friendly with strangers, but they’re a kind people. Gentlefolk. They like farming and food and good parties. My cousin’s been traveling through the Shire to sell his wares in Bree for the last twenty years and he says they’ve only recently started to take to him. He spent Yule with them at a local tavern in exchange for taking care of some wolves I hear.”

“Should still be suckling on its mother’s tit, if you ask me,” Dwalin commented. “It’s not a good sign if it’s this far away from home, being found with Orcs in the middle of winter.” Thorin agreed, he couldn’t think of any number of good reasons for a babe to be taken from its mother’s arms. The tike looked barely weaned.

The old guard looked regretfully at Thorin. “Maybe some halflings traveled this way and were attacked on the road? The child could have been taken by the Orcs to be raised as a slave. They’d done it before with humans.”

“Filth!” Dwalin spit, kicking the nearest dead Orc’s carcass in anger. “I’d kill them all ten times over for what they’ve done. There’s no honor is stealing children for servitude.”

Thorin glanced down at the drooling infant in his arms, his heart filling with sorrow for all it had gone through. The babe’s eyes were swollen shut and red from crying, snot running down its nose and cheeks flush with fever. A new worry arose in him that if they didn’t get the babe to a doctor soon things could turn deadly. Already he felt responsible for the tiny beings fate. “We’ll bring him back to Erebor with us for now. I’ll have Balin send a missive to the Shire to inquire if they are missing an inhabitant. If he has family still alive, he should be with them.”

“And what,” Dwalin scoffed, “you going to ride halfway across Middle Earth to get the babe tucked back into its crib?”

Thorin frowned at his companion, wondering where his compassion was. “If need be. Until then you are on diaper duty.”

The balding dwarf squawked in indignation. “On Mahal’s beard I’m not! You have the experience with little ones, you do it. The babe likes you anyhow.”

Which wasn’t a statement Thorin would dispute as the little one had quieted down since Thorin picked him up, but that could be because it was sick, tired, and just happy to be out from under the Orcs _tender_ care. If Thorin had been under similar treatment he’d be happy to be around anybody else too, even an elf if need be.

“I think his name is Frodo,” Thorin said softly, rubbing his thumb against the palm of the babe’s tiny hand. Frodo’s fingers curled slowly around his larger thumb, pulling it towards his puckered lips to suckle on. He’d never held something so delicate and vulnerable before, not since Kili was a babe, and he’d been half as large and born early. He wondered if Frodo was normal sized for a halfling infant or if he was premature like his sister’s son had been? There were diamonds in Erebor bigger than the babe and that worried him. For something so small and fragile should not be out in the wilds with an Orc pack.  

“Don’t get too attached, my Prince,” the old guard beseeched, startling Thorin out of his musing. “The wee one doesn’t look so well. He might not make it through the night if he doesn’t get warmed up and some milk in him. It’s a long ride ahead back to Erebor and it’s the middle of winter.”

“You think I don’t know that,” Thorin said trying to contain his anger at the dwarf’s words. He quickly started to untie his tunic with one hand so he could tuck the babe close to his skin under the folds of his clothes. Dwalin helped him with his armor, taking the heavy metal and tossing it over the saddle of his own pony. The younger guard lent a cloth belt for Thorin to tie around his chest, something to help cradle the babe against his body so he could use both hands for other things.

Frodo gave a week cough, curling into the warmth Thorin willingly shared. Panic rose up in the dwarf Prince like nothing he’d felt before, bubbling in his stomach and clenching his heart until it was almost physically painful. He would not be able to live with himself if something happened to the babe. Frodo had been saved from one cruel fate, and now Thorin would do everything in his power to keep him from death’s door.  

“Let’s go,” He shouted, pointing his sword back towards the Mountain. “Let us not wait for the elves to find us.”

“It is much too late for that, I am afraid,” a voice said behind him, startling both Thorin and the others. He spun quickly, finding an arrow pointed between his eyes and a familiar face glaring back at him.

“Prince Thorin,” the elf said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his own elvish guard stepped out of the shadows and surrounded them.

“Prince Legolas,” Thorin growled, gritting his teeth as Frodo shivered against him. The movement drew the elf Prince’s attention and his weapon lowered smidgen as his gaze moved to the dwarf’s chest.

“What is that you have there?” the elf teased, using the sharp end of his arrow to poke at the lump under Thorin’s clothes.

“None of your business, elfish scum!” Thorin jerked back, hands flying up to bat the weapon away from Frodo. Legolas smiled, pleased that he’d upset the dwarf.

“Thorin!” Dwalin cried out as another elf stepped up behind the Prince and forced his cloak aside, revealing the precious cargo hidden beneath. The whole clearing held their breath and Legolas blinked wildly, obviously surprised by what was discovered.

“Is that…”

Thorin hissed, “I have no time to deal with your petty squabbles today elf Prince. I must get him to Erebor before he dies.” 

Legolas’ pale gaze met Thorin’s and he nodded. “We shall go to my father’s palace in haste. The healers there will see to him.”

“Over my dead--” Thorin seethed, but he was cut off by the older dwarf guard stepping forward and in front of the arrow still leveled at the Prince, his wrinkled hands were held up in surrender.

“We thank his majesty for his kindness. The child would not fare well through our travel back.” He leveled Thorin with a beseeching look. “We will pay you gold for your hospitality.”

The elf stepped back and put his weapon away, nodding to his companions to do the same. “Come. Follow me.”

Once Legolas' back was turned, Thorin leveled the guard with a heavy stare.

The dwarf gave his Commander a miserable smile in return and sighed in resignation. “It is for the best, my Prince, if you want the babe is to live through the night.”

“I will have your beard for his betrayal,” Dwalin snarled, stepping between them and helping Thorin righten his clothes back around the shivering halfling. Thorin looked down at the sleeping infant in his arms and noted Frodo’s skin was no warmer than it was earlier. One tiny fist was clutched around the end of his braid, stiff and pale as ice.

“It is fine, Dwalin. Let us go,” Thorin commanded. As much as it pained him, he would accept the elves help if it meant Frodo would be restored to health.

 

**** 


	2. Chapter 2

****

 

The woodland realm was already familiar to Thorin, but each time he saw it he was a little less impressed with the grandiose and lavish architecture of the palace. Dwarves had no admiration for tree pillars or high canopied ceilings, winding stairways made from oak or pure white tile walkways. Give a dwarf a Mountain and he would create a glorious Kingdom. Give an elf a forest and he would create a playground for all sorts of creatures to make home in. Thorin knew of the giant spiders infesting Mirkwood and of how Orc packs had traveled through the forest unhindered. It was a disgrace on Thranduil that he would let his Kingdom wallow in such complacency.  

The only allowance Thorin would give was that the elf Prince led him straight to the infirmary instead of to the throne room to be received by Thranduil. Dwalin and the others were forced to wait in the halls, grumbling loudly about the hospitality of the elves.

“Set the little one here,” Legolas directed as the healers surrounded them, their tall willowy figures towering over him and Frodo with a pretentious air.

Thorin looked each one over suspiciously. “Why?”

The elf Prince sighed. “They cannot help him if you refuse to let him be seen.”

He hated to know the elf was right but he did what was asked, pulling Frodo from under his clothes and setting him down in the small wicker bassinet. The babe’s face scrunched up, like he’d smelt something bad, and then he let out the most pitiful wail ever heard.

“I-Is that normal?” Legolas asked the healers, stepping back. Thorin scoffed, amused by the fact the Prince was frightened of a crying infant.

“He has a fever,” the healer remarked, setting a thin hand on the tiny child’s forehead. Thorin couldn’t be sure if it was a trick of the light or something else, but the elves hand seemed to glow.

“Undress him please,” another healer commanded once the first healer stepped back. Thorin looked around to see who was being address and then snorted loudly when he saw them all looking at him expectantly.

“Are you afraid to dirty your hands to even help an injured babe?” He asked scathingly, slipping the dirty sack off Frodo’s fussing form. Underneath, it was more obvious the malnutrition that the small halfling was suffering. Frodo’s skin was even paler than Thorin had first thought, cleaner, but not by much, with newer purple bruises and older yellowing ones all along his sides and shoulders. His ribs stood out starkly against his bulging stomach, and Thorin was horrified to see a small festering wound against the babe’s left collarbone.

“He’s….Will he…?” Thorin started to ask, handling Frodo even more carefully as he settled him back into the bassinet. The babe kicked out, wailing even louder from the cold air touching his naked skin. Thorin reached for him again, intend to hold the babe but he was hindered. A female elf set her palm over Thorin’s hand, cautiously moving him away from Frodo. “He has not yet near death, but he is close and if we do not see to him he will not make it. His spirit is strong where his body is weak. Let us take care of him from here on and we will see to his recovery. Your duty to him is done.”

His tongue felt thick in his mouth and Thorin could barely tear his eyes away from the wailing halfling to glare at the elf trying to shuffle him out of the room. “It is not.” He looked from her to the Prince. “My duty to him is _not_ done,” he stated.

Legolas nodded, understanding creasing his brows while the other elves scowled in displeasure.

“I will not leave him,” Thorin reiterated, standing his ground as the female elf continued to gently urge him out into the hall with the other dwarves. It could have just been his displeasure at being ordered around by elves, but in his heart he knew he ached at the very thought of leaving the babe to the mercy of strangers once again. It had not turned out so well for the babe last time and Thorin would not let anything bad happen to Frodo if it was in his power to do so.

“Let him stay,” Legolas said, heading towards the door. “Prince Thorin will need to know how to take care of the infant once he and his party return to Erebor.”

“You cannot be serious,” one healer cried out. “You would leave this poor innocent child with these savages--”

Another healer cut the elf off. “Isilwen! Be more concerned with our patient and turn your ears from conversations that do not concern you.”

Legolas gave Thorin a hard stare before turning and walking out the door. Thorin snorted, crossing his arms and glaring at the crowd of healers looming over Frodo’s bassinet. The babe continued to cry, wriggling around like a wet fish as the elves poked and prodded him. The younger healers looked reluctant to touch the dirty babe, their lips curling back in disgust when Frodo left a trail of black footprints against the silk sheets lining his bedding.  

The first healer gave Thorin a similar shrewd look, flipping his long blond hair over his shoulder. “If you will not leave us than you will help. Isilwen, grab the yarrow and licorice root. We will make the tonic while Master Thorin helps Elendil bath the child.”

Grumbling under his breath about the continued orders being made towards him, Thorin moved towards Frodo and cautiously picked the babe back up. Frodo gave a small whimper at the movement, but he quieted once he was back in Thorin’s arms. Thorin sympathized with the babe, he’d be pleased to be out from under the elves loathsome observation if he’d been in a similar situation, injured or not. A dwarf would never waver at the thought to help an innocent, dirty or not.

The elf, Elendil, Thorin would assume, motioned for the dwarf Prince to follow him. He led Thorin to a homely looking levorotary, with polished wood and shiny metal conduits. Elendil pulled out a small basin from the cabinets and started filling it with lukewarm crystal clear water from the sink. Another healer brought in a pile of soft towels and sweet smelling soaps before quickly leaving after giving the elf a message in Silvan.

Elendil gestured for Thorin to position Frodo in the basin. “Carefully.”

“You think I am a fool?” Thorin growled, his hands trembling as he softly placed Frodo in the water. The babe squawked when he was immersed in the warm liquid, his lips puckering up in displeasure. Thorin tried not to smile at the expression, but it was very cute on the babe and he couldn’t help himself. “I do have some experience with children,” he said after a moment, holding Frodo’s head as he rinsed the grime off the babe’s thin limbs.

“Hmm,” the elf nodded, his sharp eyes watching Thorin warily, however neither spoke after that. Elendil would hand over the wash clothes and the soaps when Thorin needed them without asking, the two working in some sort of harmony for the small babe in need to their help. Once the water started to turn brown and dirty, Thorin cradled the wet Frodo against his chest while Elendil emptied and refilled the basin once more. Thorin even allowed the elf to assist him in washing Frodo’s wound as the halfling babe started to scream bloody murder whenever he tried to do so on his own.

“This is all we can do for now,” Elendil said, holding out a fluffy towel for Thorin to place Frodo in. The dwarf prince swaddled the infant in the clothe, the familiar memory of doing the same thing to Fili so long ago helping him when Frodo started kicking out and waving his fists in the air in discontent. Fili had been a fussy child and Thorin an impatient, inexperienced caregiver, neither suited to one another for either of their sakes, but Dis had been insistent he and Frerin learn as she refused to foist her child onto the servants, so Thorin had become quite skilled at child wrangling by the time Kili was born.

Following the elf back into the main infirmary, Thorin placed a small kiss on Frodo’s forehead and murmured a quiet prayer in Khuzdul to the maker. The child was scrubbed raw and stinking of flowers, but clean and somewhat healthier looking than before. Frodo still was a long way from recovering from his time with the Orcs, however he was getting there. The babe even attempted to open his eyes, but they were still much too swollen for that to be possible. 

“Ah, Prince Thorin,” a voice said and Thorin groaned, looking towards the sky for mercy and asking Mahal grant him patience.

“Thranduil.”  Thorin cradled Frodo tighter against his chest so the Elvenking could not see him. Thranduil stood in the middle of the room, taking up all of the healers’ attention except the one competent elf making the poultice for Frodo. The King of Mirkwood moved like a crane hunting through the reeds for frogs around his subjects and towards Thorin, graceful but with a hint of composed danger about him.

Once the Elvenking was before Thorin he looked down his nose at the dwarf. “I see my son’s report is true. You have found a halfling child in my land.”

“No thanks to you,” Thorin growled. “If you had strengthened your boarders--” 

Thranduil cut him off. “I thank you for retrieving the child from the Orc pack, but we can handle it from here. Your party awaits you in the hall.” He swept his arm out, dragging his long silver sleeves across the floor. “Leave the halfling and I will give you time to retrieve your weapons and then my guards will escort you out of my Kingdom.”

“If you think--” Thorin started, but was interrupted once again by an elf.

“Your Majesties,” the older elven healer piped up, a look of exasperation breaking through his normally placid expression. “Please, this is a place of healing, not a place to create turmoil. The babe must be seen to before anything else and we need the Prince’s corporation to handle the halfling. Time is of the essence.”

“Oh? Tell me of his condition.” Thranduil’s gaze moved to the babe hidden in Thorin’s arms. He stood over the dwarf like a tall willow, his silver hair hanging like wispy branches over his shoulder and tickling Thorin’s nose. Thorin tucked the swaddled child back into the crook of his arms and gritted his teeth in a growl at the Elvenking. Ally or not, he would fiercely fight the elf off if he tried to take Frodo from him.

 “He is greatly malnourished and very ill,” the healer reported, motioning for Thorin to come to him. Thorin reluctantly complied, hoping Thranduil wouldn’t follow and stay on the other side of the room. Sadly, he didn’t. “The child also was wounded by some unknown means, which has festered and created a fever.”

Thorin allowed the elf healer to move the cloth aside so he could apply the poultice to the wound, never once asking the dwarf to set the babe down though it might be easier to help him if he did. Maybe the healer knew Thorin would refuse to, especially now that the Elvenking loomed over him like a snake waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The babe started to cry again almost immediately as the salve was applied, the sound piercing Thorin right through the heart as Frodo shrieked the howl of the deeply betrayed.

 “Could you not be gentler?” He asked, glaring hotly at the healer as Frodo continued to weep as he wrapped the wound with clean bandages. 

“I am sorry, but the wound is badly infected. The healing process will undoubtedly be painful.”

Thorin rocked Frodo in his arms, caressing the babe’s cheek with his thumb and wishing he could take the pain as his own. To hear the child cry like he was broke Thorin’s heart to pieces.

“Here, let me.” Thranduil reached over Thorin’s head and placed a delicate hand over the babe’s eyes and immediately Frodo started to calm down until he seemed to fall into a deep sleep.

Thorin jerked back, hiding Frodo from the Elvenking as he hunched over him in protection. “Cease your witchcraft. Can you not see he is already in pain?”

Thranduil rolled his eyes and tucked his hands back into his long, silver sleeves. “He is just asleep. It will help him heal quicker as my healers watch over him. Now, I will escort you--”

“I am not leaving him here to be treated by your pity,” Thorin shouted, his temper rising the more the elves tried to get him to abandon Frodo in their realm. “He is mine to care for and I will not discard him to a bunch of tree humping elves who would rather toss spells at him then care for him like he should be. Frodo is a traumatized infant, not some horse to be tempered. If he cries, _I_ will sooth him. If he is hurt, _I_ will treat his wounds. If he is tired, _I_ will rock him to sleep.”

The Elvenking simply raised an eyebrow at Thorin’s explosion. “I was not aware Thorin Oakenshield had somehow acquired a halfling child of his own?”

“He is mine,” Thorin seethed, wishing he was a dragon and could breathe fire onto the whole Mirkwood realm and be rid of Thranduil once and for all. “Halfling or no, he is under my guardianship until his rightful family is found. On my honor I will not let you nor anybody else take him from me without proper cause. To do so is to tempt war with all of Erebor and our allies. I will protect Frodo as if he was born of my own flesh and blood.”

There was a groan from the other side of the door and Thorin knew Dwalin had been listening in.

“Is that so?” Thranduil swept his cloak over his shoulder in a over exaggerated move, peering down at Thorin with his pale, assessing eyes. “You may stay until the child is better, but your soldiers must leave. You and young….Frodo, you said, will be guests of mine until he is fit for travel. Until then you will behave and listen to my healers.”

“Fine,” Thorin spit. He would not like it, but if it helped the babe and they no longer insisted on taking Frodo from him, he would not protest too much. If anything he could send a letter back to Balin and Dis requesting assistance and a carriage to escort both him and Frodo comfortably back to Erebor. A day or so in Mirkwood was the least of his worries at the moment, though it was high on his list of annoyances.

“Over my dead body!” Dwalin shouted, barging through the door.

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday rounds finally over so I have time to get on the computer. =D
> 
> Maybe one more chapter of Thorin really becoming attached to Frodo before we move to the Shire and find out what's happening there. =>


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets a regular late night visitor to his rooms while in Mirkwood.

****

 

If Thorin had hoped he’d seen the last of Thranduil, he was sadly mistaken.

Once the Elvenking had swept out of the infirmary and given his orders to the guards to escort the dwarven soldiers to the boarders of the forest, Thorin had assumed Thranduil would not bother with them again. Sadly it seemed Thorin had maybe celebrated a bit prematurely, as the Elvenking had taken it in his mind that Thorin was in need of _his_ advice for _everything_ concerning Frodo. Constantly. At all hours of the day. And night.

He hovered persistently over Thorin’s shoulder with ‘sage’ suggestions and ‘wise’ council on how to hold the babe or how to feed Frodo and even gave direction on how to change the halfling’s diaper. He was like an annoying bee, insistently buzzing around and irritating Thorin until there was a constant dull ringing in the dwarf’s ears that didn’t even fade when he went to sleep.

Frodo wasn’t taking too well to the Elvenking either. Thranduil liked to poke the babe in the belly, perhaps hoping to obtain the delighted giggles that Thorin did when he tickled the small halfling, but it was not to be. Whenever Thranduil came into sight, Frodo eye’s would widen in what Thorin imagined was panic and flail his skinny arms. When Thranduil saw the babe’s expression he would pout for hours afterward, until he got so into his cups of wine he’d lament to Thorin about how much missed his son being that age. Thorin learned more than he ever wanted to know about Legolas during these types of sit downs, which somehow occurred most often or not in his assigned chambers in the middle of the night. Thorin worried about the types of rumors Thranduil’s actions were causing. If any of them got back to Erebor, his sister would shame him!

“No,” Thranduil flapped his hands at Thorin from across the table, his rob’s long sleeves slapping against the oak surface. “You need to pat his back, not pound it. He’ll burp eventually but there’s no need to get impatient. I once had to stay up a whole night to get Legolas to burp. You know, he had the most noxious gas as a child. Worst in the realm, I swear to Illúvatar.”

Never in Thorin’s wildest and horrified nightmares would he ever imagine talking about baby fumes to the Elvenking in his bedroom in his sleep-clothes, but it had become somewhat of a familiar scene as of late. Like magic the Elvenking would appear whenever Frodo made so much as a mulish frown of displeasure at something Thorin did and the Elvenking would settle down for a long discussion about what the dwarf had done wrong _this time_.

 It was becoming a bit irksome for Thorin to control his temper. He wasn’t getting much sleep either and his nerves were constantly frayed by the overabundance of advice he was bestowed with. He constantly had to remind the elves that he had experience with children before.

“I know what I’m doing,” Thorin growled, switching from patting Frodo to smoothing a hand down the halflings bony back. Frodo settled against his shoulder, tucking his curly head against Thorin’s neck and mouthing at the skin there. He wondered distantly, if the babe had been nursed at all since its birth, but the thought quickly disappeared before he could think more on Frodo’s past.

Thranduil gave the dwarf Prince a baleful look. “Do you?”

“I’ve dealt with children before,” Thorin repeated himself, raising a pointed eyebrow as the babe cooed in happiness. He’d only just discovered recently that petting the halflings ears made him gurgle with joy, so Thorin had set about doing it as often as possible in front of the elves, especially in light of the horrified screeching Frodo made when someone else tried to do the same.

“Your sister’s,” Thranduil said. “It is not the same though as having your own, I assure you. There is a major difference, especially when you can pass on a fussing child to its parent when--”

Thorin interrupted before the elf could go on, tired of all the conjecture on his parenting abilities. “ _I know_ there is a difference. Do you think so little of us dwarves that we would not care for our kin even if they are in a bad mood? I was just as much involved in raising Fili and Kili as their own father. Unlike elves, all our kin participate in the raising of a child, not just the parents.”

Thranduil was seemingly unfazed by Thorin’s blistering comment, his expression blank as he sipped at his wine. “Oh? Would that explain your father’s absence during your youth? King Thrór raised you and your siblings almost singlehandedly if I recall. After your mother’s death.”

Embarrassment caused Thorin’s cheeks to burn with anger. A heavy stone settled in stomach and resentment burned in him like the great forges of Erebor. He would not have some _elf_ belittle his father, the King, in front of him over such personal matters.  Thranduil council was not needed on _that_ subject.

“Silence!” he hissed, lips curling back in a snarl. If he was not so fatigued he’d almost be tempted to challenge the Elvenking to a duel in his father’s honor.

Frodo squirmed in his hold and tugged at Thorin’s hair, pulling the dwarf’s attention away from the pale elf as one of Thorin’s braids and bead disappeared into the babe’s mouth.

“No, Frodo,” Thorin’s voice softened, his anger fading at the cherub face of the babe turned awkwardly towards him. The end of the braid plopped wetly onto his shoulder. “I will make you toys to play with when we return home. My advisors already think I am being tortured as it is. If I return bedraggled and missing my beads they will take up arms.”

Frodo blinked his large, luminously blue eyes up at Thorin and then sneezed right into the dwarf’s mouth. Thranduil made a wheezing sound of strangled pain and quickly looked away.

“Mahal bless us all,” Thorin sighed. He was used to the daily gunk and filth he’s accumulated since acquiring the babe so he wasn’t too fazed by this latest deed. Being sick for so long and in bad health, Frodo’s messes weren’t as ordinary as a normal babes. Thorin had been introduced to a variety of sickly colors, filth, and projectile body fluids since he’d come across Frodo. This latest action wasn’t even embarrassing because of their audience, as Thranduil had been subjected to Frodo’s dripping snot all over his white clothes in front of a spectator of elves during a feast thrown in the halflings honor. Thorin still grinned at that particular memory. He liked to recall it whenever the Elvenking got on his nerves during one of his long disparage lecture on baby care.  

After his silent laughter subsided, Thranduil passed over a silk handkerchief from his pockets. Thorin almost didn’t take it, but it was much too late to refuse the elf’s hospitality at this juncture. Since being stuck here for more than a week, Thorin had learned much about his host that surprised him. As unflappable and collected as the Elvenking often appeared, he wasn’t always so poised and his open concern for Frodo was sincere. His placid dislike of Thorin had cooled the longer they were in each other company, and the dwarf was hard pressed to say he _hated_ Thranduil, despite his disparaging comments towards Thráin.   

“You look weary,” Thranduil commented, looking the dwarf over. “Have you slept any? My healers can watch the child for the night so you can get a full night’s rest.”

“No,” Thorin grunted, wiping his face quickly and tossing the silk rag onto the table.

The elf hummed in disbelief.

“I’m fine and it is late, leave me,” Thorin grumbled, yanking his braid out of Frodo’s hands again.

Thranduil ignored him. “I’m having someone search the libraries for you, or young Frodo actually. There’s a book of children stories that was given to me by someone who traveled West and procured it for a relative. I believe there are some mentions of halflings in it.”

“There are children books in Erebor,” Thorin said in exasperation, exhausted from too little sleep and taking care of Frodo in the middle of the night. Even during the day when Thranduil had other duties to see to, he had a cache of guards, healers, and other such elves of dubious purposes trailing after Thorin. It was frankly more tiring dealing with them than a sick and squalling Frodo.

“Really? How surprising.” Thranduil raised an incredulous eyebrow and sipped at his wine indifferently. “Still, I doubt you or anybody this far East has stories of halflings. You would not want young Frodo to believe himself a dwarf.”

The elf’s word sent a sharp piercing arrow through Thorin’s heart and he squeezed Frodo tightly in his hands. The babe squeaked and gave a large belch against the dwarf’s shoulder, earning a relieved sigh from his caretaker and a small smirk from Thranduil at the spit up that now decorated Thorin’s clothes. 

“No, he is not a dwarf,” Thorin admitted, but it cost him. In the last couple of days in Mirkwood alone with Frodo, he’d bonded with the child. The babe did not like for Thorin to leave his sight and would often pitch a fit if handed over to another. Thorin was there for all the halflings examinations and was more often than not lately the one who had to administer whatever healing salves the elves had prescribed him. Frodo slept where Thorin could see him, ate his meals in Thorin’s arms, bathed together, and rested against the dwarf’s chest when they lay down to nap. There wasn’t a moment they’d been without each other since the halfling had been found. So it took everything in Thorin’s power to remind himself that one day he may be forced to give the child up.

Thranduil peered down at the bottom of his empty cup with an unhappy frown. “Look at us, agreeing to something. I’m half convinced the child has some sort of magic in him.”

Thorin laughed, the sound of it rough and abrasive in the quiet of the night. “I would not be surprised if he did. Frodo _is_ something special.”

The Elvenking’s cool gaze moved to Thorin’s. “You care for him.”

It was more of a statement than a question, so Thorin didn’t answer. Instead he hefted Frodo up and carried him to his bassinet next to Thorin’s overly large bed. The babe gurgled, reaching up with his tiny, fat fingers to try to tug at Thorin’s braids. The dwarf caught Frodo’s small fist in his hands and tucked them under the soft blanket. Large blue eyes blinked at him sleepily.

“I will repay you, for the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

Thranduil flapped his wrist as the dwarven Prince. “You will, but not in the way you expect. I will not take coins for the child’s care.”

 Thorin glanced suspiciously over his shoulder. He did not like the sound of that. “Than what will you be asking of me in return?”

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Nothing of value to _you_. We will discuss such matters later, for now it is late and Master Frodo sleeps, so I should do the same.”

The dwarf did not like leaving such ominous demands over his head, but he was also tired and too drained to deal with duplicitous elves and their secreted agendas. He glared hard as Thranduil swept from the room without dismissal, leaving his empty cup and a half filled decanter on the table. Thorin snorted, rolling his eyes at the elf’s behavior before turning back to Frodo. The babe had fallen asleep, his curling eyelashes kissing pink cheeks, bowed lips smacking together as he sighed softly in slumber. Thorin could not help himself as he reached out to touch the curling black hair at the babe’s forehead.

He would pay whatever Thranduil asked, for the help his healers had given Frodo. Anything.

 And in a few days’ time, Frodo would be ready to return to Erebor with Thorin.

 

****

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not betaed! All mistakes are mine. =(


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